The tears are welling in my eyes as I write. My mum and dad were just keeping their heads financially above water during the sixties but, somehow, once a year, they always managed to take me, my late brother and my surviving sister on holiday to Pentewan Sands.

It was in August in 1968 (when I was twelve) that we embarked on the sad journey home for, what turned out to be, the last time. I am now nearly 63 but still have reoccurring dreams that I am back walking the sandy beach, exploring the rocky coves and again standing on the end of the long lost pier where I caught my first mackerel. Such wonderful memories. I fear that I can never return as the hurt would be overwhelming. Please defend this special place from the ever present threat of over development.